Ray LaMontagne, Brandi Carlile superb at the Greek

It's human nature to like secrets -- makes us feel special, like we know something others don't, that somehow we found a precious piece of something no one else can touch. Ray LaMontagne started out that way for at least part of his still-burgeoning audience.

His successful career goes against all industry standards. Though his first album, 2004's Trouble, was a modest hit (it's still his best-seller), the singer-songwriter from New Hampshire was still something of a secret to start, an indie darling on a major label (RCA) making a name for himself by landing songs on television. His debut eventually went gold but rose no higher than N0. 189 on the charts; his celebrated fourth album, last year's God Willin' & the Creek Don't Rise, entered the charts at No. 3 and went on to score him his first Grammy plus a nod for best song -- yet it's still among his slowest-selling works.

The secret about LaMontagne is definitely out -- it's just taken a while to get around. It makes some sense, however, that such a shy artist would need three or four albums to eventually build a solid base of what are now nearly rabid fans, thousands of whom held on his every word Saturday night in his return to the Greek Theatre.

God Willin', his first self-produced effort, marks LaMontagne's first album collaboration with a proper band; gone (at least for now) are the days of the lone, bearded troubadour at a microphone with a guitar and a harmonica. Yet, uncomfortable as ever with too much attention, he remains a wallflower, his stage setup saying everything about his withdrawn personality.

He places himself to the far-right side of the mostly bare stage, on an equal plane with the rest of his band, and though it's safe to say no one attends a Ray LaMontagne show expecting to see an extravagant spectacle, it was still surprising to see that most of the performance was delivered in extremely low light, with little to no front lighting at all. That kept him and the Pariah Dogs in an almost ethereal, shadowy state throughout the entirety of the evening.

The only set piece, if it can be called that, was an enormous video screen behind the band that was often awash in muted, soft colors or what looked like pastel versions of Rorschach inkblots. Whatever the intent, it commented on how his music can sneak right into your psyche and overwhelm your feelings. Several times throughout the evening, people could be seen drying their eyes, almost surprised at how they had been taken to that emotional place unaware.

Minimalistic may describe the stage and lighting, and the between-song chatter was nearly nonexistent, offering the audience a rare treat instead: silence. But stark isn't entirely the best way to describe the music emitting from the stage this night, pulsing throughout the air and into the veins of a pretty packed crowd.

Many of LaMontagne's songs are steeped in pain, regret, remorse. A plea from a broken heart; another heart broken by life and the pain of living. It's said that when the heart is broken, it is at its most pure, and that's the heart that can connect with the divine. Perhaps that's why at times Saturday night the Greek felt like a church.

Yet his music doesn't come across as depressive or morose (although it's a definite must for any breakup playlist). It's more soulful, pure and hopeful than that, straightforward yet profound tunes that touch deeply and evoke a feeling of being swept away to a simpler, quieter, more intimate time.

From the moment LaMontagne, 38, and his bassist, oh-so-groovy Jennifer Condos, stepped on stage for the opening song, "Burn," the crowd was captivated. The slow simmering continued through a fantastic rendition of "For the Summer" and an assured handling of "Beg Steal or Borrow," building to a funky/bluesy and definitely rip-roaring climax with "Repo Man."

He possesses a raw, unpolished depth few live acts of this era can touch. In a business that has become performer-heavy instead of artist-driven, where AutoTuning remains a norm despite incessant backlash, it's inspiring and lovely to see someone possessing actual talent, not just hype and heavy rotation, garnering this kind of devotion and acclaim. By the time he and the ensemble indulged a cover of Cindy Walker's "Blue Canadian Rockies" (learned from the Byrds' Sweetheart of the Rodeo), anyone who had even the slightest bit of fidgeting at the start of the show had grown entranced.

"Shelter" was a standout in an evening filled with 'em, but the bluegrass beat and sheer joy of "Devil's in the Jukebox" coupled with his band's outstanding playing brought the evening to yet another level, and the electricity between artist and audience didn't relent until the end. Once we reached the end, moving from an intense "Jolene" into a “you gotta get on your feet” version of "Henry Nearly Killed Me (It's a Shame)," there was a sense of having just completed some catharsis with a very close friend.

A good portion of LaMontagne's singing is done with eyes closed, as if he's channeling forebears. He can move with exhilarating ease from the coarse, raspy power of Joe Cocker to the sweeter, softer folk style of early Tim Buckley. Yet, for all the advances he's made with the Pariah Dogs behind him, his music boils down to basics.

It's still an astounding (and increasingly rare) feat, to see someone utilize just harmonica, guitar and a voice and be able to command silence from roughly 6,000 people -- precisely what he did here by excusing the band for the evening's closing song, a perfect seven minutes of "Like Rock & Roll and Radio." Maybe his lone troubadour thing isn't completely in the past just yet.

By dramatic contrast, although nearly in the same vein of countrified (or country-fried) folk-rock, Brandi Carlile turned in a fiery, ebullient performance that was an ideal opening choice. Every fiber of her slight, newly 30-year-old frame was electrified and visibly excited; she was sometimes downright gushing about her first appearance at the hallowed Greek Theatre.

Launching her 45-minute set with an assist from her self-described “modest string section” and moving right into "What Can I Say," Carlile was the consummate entertainer, peppering her playing with joyful chatter and rocker girl power.

A rough and tumble rendition of "The Story" (equal parts Joan Jett tough and Indigo Girls touching), a seamless teaming of Johnny & June's "Jackson" with the Man in Black's "Folsom Prison Blues," plus two new songs yet to be recorded -- "Keep Your Heart Young," a sweet country tune about grandpa and putting rocks in the middle of snowballs, and "Raise Hell," about doing exactly that -- were all highlights of a performance that confirms Carlile not only has the chops to wail alongside the best, she's also a strong, even magnetic presence on stage.

Her set closed quietly with Carlile, a self-professed '80s geek with unicorns on her shoes, alone at the keyboard, eliciting giggles over snippets of the Bangles' "Eternal Flame" and Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" before settling on Alphaville's "Forever Young." Explaining that she's been lamenting turning 30 and revisiting old songs, she pointed out how that one seemed to encapsulate not only her reaction to getting older but also a feeling in the world right now.

She needn't worry. She's still very young, with many more years ahead to enchant with her stellar talent.

User Agreement

Keep it civil and stay on topic. No profanity, vulgarity, racial
slurs or personal attacks. People who harass others or joke about
tragedies will be blocked. By posting your comment, you agree to
allow Orange County Register Communications, Inc. the right to
republish your name and comment in additional Register publications
without any notification or payment.